


you're extra special, something else

by blanchtt



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: BDSM, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: [A collection of BDSM prompts for my O8 Holiday Gift Exchange giftee.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [demon60327akuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon60327akuma/gifts).



> I tried my hand at a couple of BDSM prompts as requested for the receiver of my Ocean's 8 holiday gift exchange. Prompts are a mixture of canon and AUs and chapter notes contain a brief description of the acts involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shibari/Suspencion

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Nice bike.”

 

She usually doesn’t go without Nine Ball. Half of it’s safety, and half of it’s having to make small talk—she _hates_ small talk. Nine Ball doesn’t like small talk, either, but between the two of them they come up with a whole, if stilted, conversation that usually satisfies the client. But Debbie throws that formula out, smiles and watches to see how that compliment lands because Nine Ball isn’t here and it’s just her and a tall blonde woman who’s going to be tying her up in about ten minutes.

 

 _Lou_ , Debbie remembers, had read off her schedule on her phone before taking the stairs up that it was Lou Miller, not a man but a woman, actually, and the comment about her bike gets an approving raise of a brow from Lou along with the hint of a smile back.

 

Lou wears tights jeans and a tee shirt and a leather jacket and riding boots that make noise on the fancy hardwood floor and the loft, too, just like its owner, is undeniably cool. It’s in a cool location somewhere along the river above a cool bar in a cool city and all of that plus Lou checking the big expensive camera in her hand, fixing setting and shutters and whatever else she needs, helps Debbie keep from pacing.

 

That, plus Lou is hot and polite, and all of it puts her at ease somehow, that today might be _fun_.

 

Despite the fact that what Lou wants is not something she does every day, the whole thing still plays out professionally, though, as her appointments always do. It’s Nine Ball. Nine Ball doesn’t set her up with anyone she doesn’t vet herself.

 

The things her brother got into were shady. Modeling might come with a fraction of the money, but it also comes with a fraction of the risk. Which reminds her she needs to pay him a visit, and she makes a mental note to stop by his gravesite sometime soon.  

 

For right now, though—get in, do the job, get out, profit.

 

“Thanks,” Lou replies, calm and unhurried as she hefts the camera in her hands and nods at the bike. “Gonna clean it up, eventually. Maybe take a road trip out to California. Can I get you anything before we start, if you’re ready? Restroom? Anything?”

 

Apparently Lou’s mostly business, and Debbie can appreciate that, smiles lightly and shakes her head, puts that small talk away for now. If she were getting billed by the hour, she’d be too. “Of course. No, thank you.”

 

_(“So this Lou person’s lookin’ for someone okay with that Japanese rope shit.”_

_“I’m down. When?”)_

There’s a rig and rope carefully laid out and black puzzle flooring and it’s not the first time she’s done this but not something she does often either. But it’s clean and safe and Debbie feels the last flicker of unease— _does she really know what she’s doing_ , and _why_ , and _what is this all for_ —slip away as Lou starts walking around, checking things, says offhandedly, “Just take off whatever’s comfortable.”

 

( _“Tuesday morning. So, specifics... Not too much make up, naturalish hair, you can keep your bra and panties on. Nothing shady. Guess he just needs a pretty face and a hot body.”)_

 

She’s sat without issue for things that have involved entire art classes seeing her nude. There’s an amount of gravitas that comes with it, with knowing that phones are off and away and people are here to draw or sculpt or photograph and that is it. Debbie steps out of her heels, unbuttons her blouse, sheds that and her bra and then her slack and panties and watches Lou turn around, stop and look taken aback for once, eyes flicking telltale over her before smiling almost nervously and motioning at the middle of the mat.

 

“If you could just kneel right there.”

 

Debbie hides that tilt of her mouth, the beginning of a smirk, because now Lou’s lost a little bit of that cool, turned away again as she fiddles with her camera which she’s already done and shouldn’t need to do again and then picks something else up, and it’s endearing that she’s thrown a professional off her game so easily.

 

“Sure,” Debbie says, and she sits, hands resting on her thighs, watches Lou finally turn back around and unravel rope—hemp, supple—and get to work.

 

“You have family out in California?” Debbie asks, because for once the silence that settles between her and the client feels like something should be there filling it instead, something curious and patient, and Lou makes a noise, holds rope in one hand and strings the rest out quickly and expertly with the other before taking a knee behind her.

 

“Nah,” Lou says, close, and Debbie follows her quiet instruction, lifts her arms a bit and listens as Lou tells her what she’s doing and where she might touch her and, fuck, she’s a goner, Debbie thinks as Lou’s knuckle grazes the side of her ribs. “Just me and the club.”

 

“How long have you been riding?”

 

The harness starts with the rope drawn under her arms, across her back, and then Lou kneels in front of her, working, and the tug of the rope under her breasts, draws it a little tighter, around the back of her neck and then down again until even her own small tits look great in it, probably.

 

“Longer than you’ve been around,” Lou answers, warm and smooth, and Debbie laughs because this is cliché but, god, does she want it. Nine Ball’s going to kill her.

 

“Bullshit,” Debbie declares. “Flatterer.”

 

Lou winks, rope in hand and smile crooked.

 

“Let me know as soon as you get uncomfortable.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

She finishes the shoot, shakes Lou’s hand, smiles, and leaves, professional to a fault.

 

But not before getting her number, not in any professional context, and then Thursday there is a date, a real one, not just fucking at work which is not classy and not her style and that Nine Ball would kill her for, and there is a kiss and her hands in Lou’s hair and she ends up in Lou’s bed instead of her living room, Lou’s mouth working over her thigh in slow kisses after she’s come, at the indents the rope left like Lou can soothe them away with the care she’s putting into it.

 

Debbie flexes, gentle, feels Lou’s hand follow her and the burn deep in the muscle of her thigh. No pain, just the warmth of stretching after being denied it.

 

“Your turn,” Debbie half asks, feels out whether that’s okay or not and it must be because Lou lets her, lets her shift and slide and then she’s on top of Lou with the rope held slack in her hands, straddling Lou’s hips as Lou’s hands settle on her thighs, Lou grinning as Debbie tucks her hair behind her ear before leaning down and kissing her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domination/Submission

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s twenty-one and Debbie is like no other girl she’s met.

 

_(She's got her own scams, of course, but Debbie's go harder than she's ever really given though, bigger payoffs and bigger risks, and Lou follows because why not.)_

 

She’s used to backing pretty girls up against surfaces in clubs—girls smiling and gasping and arching and Lou drinks that in, can’t help it, used to slipping fingers between thighs and in pockets, used to getting them off and getting the fuck out of town.

 

_(They've fucked in all manner of plans and all manners of style, and whether it's Debbie under her or her over Debbie, Lou comes harder than she has with anyone else, breathing in sweat and Chanel and licking Debbie off her lips and fingers.)_

 

But Debbie is dark eyes and a smooth, confident voice despite being three years younger, and they’re back in Lou's apartment now, which is less an apartment and more a shitty, run-down one-room place to fall asleep in and do nothing else, except maybe plan another successful scam.

 

With girls it is usually in their homes and their cars and maybe alleys, with or without toys, with or without Lou whispering things that make them blush or moan—there is always a woman between her and the wall, and her face buried between a nice pair of tits or thighs, on or under her but either way slipping fingers over the straps around her hips, pulling her closer.

 

_(With Debbie there is a tone to be picked up on sometimes, in little signs and sounds and motions, like last night, Debbie kissing down her stomach, a hand curled around the dildo of her strap-on, pausing, and then Debbie's lips around her. She'd run her fingers through Debbie's curls, hand settling on the back of her head, had not been rejected.)_

 

There is the door at her back and Debbie between her legs, turning everything on its head because it’s not like that, no, because Debbie is standing between her legs and she might be tilting up just a little to look up at her but Debbie’s hand is between her thighs, palm rubbing hard where her clit is, at least where it is under a pair of tight black denim jeans that are too thick, and Lou wonders if it’s possible for her street cred to simple evaporate here and now because she wants nothing more than to unzip them and for Debbie to slip her hand in.

 

_(Or a few days ago, on her back and nearly gasping after coming so close so many times, a thrumming in her blood and close to begging, Debbie between her legs and that quiet and gentle request, "Hold still, baby.")_

 

Debbie’s lips grace her neck, kiss hot and slow and with a hint of teeth, and Lou knows now what all those other girls felt, pinned between something and a beautiful woman, and her hips arch up to meet Debbie, hand on Debbie’s shoulder pulling her closer as Debbie smiles against her, nips lazily.

 

“Fuck me,” Lou asks, and it comes out in a register that she’s hardly ever heard her voice reach.

 

“Say please,” Debbie replies, voice light, and Debbie’s other hand is cupped against her jaw now, holding her there if she _wants_ to be held, like she has in everything they’ve done together so far, and Lou feels a pull in her cunt, hot and tight, _wants_ and swallows and asks—

 

“Please.”

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anal/Threesome/Double Penetration

 

 

 

 

 

 

They pick up where they left off, a little slower, a little wiser.

 

The Toussaint heist is playing out just as she'd planned, slowly and surely, and Tammy is working on her part, so there’s little left to do and there’s nothing she likes less than sitting at home with nothing to do, except on those rare days where Lou takes them off from work, for some reason or another.

 

Maybe she should appreciate it more, Debbie thinks, almost abandons the idea of relaxing instantly with a wrinkled nose because it sounds a lot like giving up, but then remembers hard cots and terrible food and a lack of privacy and, most of all, no Lou, and maybe taking it slow isn’t such a bad idea after all.

 

When Lou is home there are things to do together like cook and listen to music and drink and plan out new heists, in bed or out sightseeing or siting at the table eating take out, ideas sketched out verbally but never written down because see above. Writing it down makes it real, makes it another list like the one she’s got folded up and slipped into her pillowcase like she’d done every night for the past five or so years, makes it so it's something she can't stop from doing.

 

And, of course, when Lou is home there is kissing and fucking and everything in between from sweet to things that have made her blush, because if there’s one thing neither of them can do it’s back down from a challenge, from something new, from figuring out kinks in a plan and seeing it through to the end.

 

Lou slaps her ass one night in passing, teasing, and the sting of it has her breath hissing through her teeth. Lou turns, watches her out of the corner of her eye, but there’s no protest from Debbie, and after that it’s impossible to keep Lou’s hands off her.

 

_(They work slow and steady, and after a few months Lou gives her a diamond, one that Debbie rolls her eyes at but can’t help but hold onto. She tamps down that eagerness, knows she can’t con a con but she can try, to salvage her dignity just a little bit._

_“A diamond for my diamond,” Lou says, means it from the look in her eyes, but Debbie grins because Lou is grinning too, and because the plug does boast a pretty pink diamond at the end of it._

_“You’re the worst.”_

_“You love me.”_

_“I do.”)_

 

“What do you think?” Lou asks over coffee one morning, broaches the subject that they’ve danced around but has been at the end of the long slow road this whole time, and Debbie takes a sip, thinks about it and knows the answer already.

 

She texts Nine Ball, and Nine Ball texts her back unhurried, agrees and asks what she can do and Debbie tells her not to worry because they’ve got it all covered, that all Nine Ball has to do is show up.

 

_(“Oh, my god,” Nine Ball says, low and long in exasperation, Debbie’s flip phone in her hands, and Debbie only holds her hands up in defense, five plus years out of touch, and lets the other woman flip through her phone, disabling pretty much everything until her footprint, whatever that means, is at a minimum._

_“You ever need help, you_ call me _,” Nine Ball says, a brow raised sternly, and Debbie takes her phone, thanks her, knows it’s not good for them to leave footprints and that might be the only reason why Nine Ball’s saying that, but Nine Ball grins, lets out something suspiciously like a laugh as Debbie hugs her before she peaces out and leaves.)_

 

And now it’s that evening, and after dinner it ends with her in bed, Lou at her back and Lou is cool and Nine is cool and they’re both stoned and she’s a little unfocused too from her pull at the blunt. Nine’s hand is on her hip and the other on her strap, spreading lube, and Lou is against her back, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, slipping her well lubed strap in too until she’s full, oh, so full, more than she’s ever been, and Nine and Lou are moving and she’s between them, held up safe, gasping for breath with Lou’s lips on her neck and fingertips brushing her clit and Nine’s hands on her hips, careful.

 

When she comes it’s hard enough to see stars, Nine Ball and Lou holding her up and their own breaths ragged, and it’s Lou against her back first asking if she can come again, murmured breathless against her jaw as she feels Nine Ball brush a strand of hair careful out of her face, and Debbie nods, head tilting forward against Nine’s shoulder, sucks in a breath and reaches up and wipes away what might be a little tear with a laugh because _god_ , she can, over and over if Nine Ball and Lou keep doing what they’re doing.

 

There's a kiss to her brow from someone, gentle, a little more lube in careful hands, and then _again_. 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Body Piercing

 

 

 

 

 

 

She doesn’t ask names.

 

The door to the shop opens, closes. Someone comes in—teenage girls accompanied by their mothers, random frat bros with brilliant ideas at two in the morning, someone who thinks a conch piercing’s going to cure their migraines. (She hopes it does, but she’s no doctor.) Sometimes, it’s even an older person, a little old lady who wants a nose ring or an older dude adding to a collection of tattoos and piercings.

 

Point being, Lou doesn’t ask names. Doesn’t need them, because all she does is take their IDs and scan them and give them the consent form, the spiel, the risks, and after it all the aftercare instructions. It’s a transaction, one she’s done enough times on enough people on enough places to be able to do the technical side of it automatically, methodically, carefully.

 

“What can I do you for?” Lou asks one quiet, overcast afternoon, leans against the glass counter displaying every type of jewelry you could ask for for a piercing.

 

The woman who’s just walked in, in tight slacks and a fancy top and long dark hair looking completely out of place, looks away from Constance tattooing something on a client at her chair up front and walks towards Lou a bit uncertainly.

 

Lou gets her ready, sets her up, has Debbie—she knows because she asks, makes some light conversation—lie down and talks her through it, pierces her naval easy as pie and Debbie takes it like a champ, sits up and looks down and admires the simple, classic white diamond piercing that now adorns her stomach.

 

“Beautiful,” Lou says, and Debbie smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe it’s the accent, or the swagger Constance has told her she has, or maybe it’s something about people who want to get pierced.

 

She doesn’t date clients, she really doesn’t, at least not after the shitshow that was her ex, but Debbie must have grabbed her business card on her way out the shop because she gets a text at eleven in the morning, still sleepy, and Lou reaches out from under her duvet, squints at the sunlight and picks up her phone, and it all unfolds from there like it was meant to.

 

There’s dinner and drinks, and Debbie’s navel is healing wonderfully, Lou is able to ascertain one they get home, but that’s really a passing thought that won’t come up again because she’s got her arms around Debbie’s hips, holding her as close as is wise too without smothering herself, Debbie’s thighs flexing to stay above her, a hand on the headboard of the bed, and Lou tilts up just a bit, careful as she takes Debbie’s clit into her mouth, the cool touch of metal jewelry vastly different from Debbie’s warmth.

 

Debbie makes a noise above her as Lou sucks lightly, experimenting because she’s actually never done this before, at least not with a piercing _here_ , and Debbie runs a hand through her hair, the other holding onto the headboard, _whining_ , and Lou falls into a rhythm, plays with whatever her tongue touches until Debbie comes shuddering and Lou eases her down.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

She’s really more into tattoos. She’s got seventeen and counting, some big and some small, all totaling to a small fortune that she doesn’t mind paying. Debbie, on the other hand, has none.

 

“The only way you’re getting a needle in me is if you’re leaving a little piercing of steel in after,” Debbie says, and that’s cool. Lou can admire that.

 

It’s a balance. Yin and yang, and all that shit. She doesn’t know. She’s got her ears pierced but that’s it, experimented with her own nipple when she was in her twenties but took it out. It takes commitment she doesn’t have the patience for. Debbie, though, is one of the most fastidious, patient planners she’s ever met.

 

Debbie sits on the black vinyl seat, shirt and bra off, and Lou picks up the clamps, lets out a breath. The shop after hours is calmer, quieter, and smells a good deal less like weed now that Nine Ball is gone. Lou leans in, steals a kiss, one that Debbie lingers on until Lou pulls away because she’s got everyting sterilized and ready and even the most kick ass of clients can’t think too long about it without sweating and this is number two of two tonight. It’s a rush. She can’t lie. But only because it’s Debbie. Everyone else, and it’s all business.

 

“Deep breath in again,” Lou says. “And… out.”

 

“Motherfucker,” Debbie hisses again, face drawn in pain that can’t be masked, and Lou _tsks_ , shakes her head and keeps her concentration on where it should be, minus a little look at Debbie to check in on her.

 

“Language.”

 

“Fuck you,” Debbie says, joking, and Lou finishes up, rolls the cap end of the barbell piercing into place, and voila. Two beautiful piercings.

 

“Well, you’ll have to be careful next time you do fuck me, because if you’re too rough on these they won’t heal right.”

 

Debbie pulls her bra on carefully, arms through the lacy straps and then securing it behind her back gingerly. “You don’t mind?”

 

“That I can’t have your beautiful tits in my mouth for a while? Not really,” Lou says, puts away her instruments because hey, it’s a great payoff. Debbie’s got great little tits and they look fucking beautiful with simple barbell piercings through the nipples. “I mean, I’m a little sad, but when I look at them, it’s kind of worth it.”

 

“I’ll make it worth it,” Debbie says, eyes dark as she slips on her loose top, and Lou sure as fuck believes her.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crop/Impact

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are bumps and bruises, all accidents on Lou’s fair skin except when they’re not.

 

_(She comes from a motorcycle ride banged up, doesn’t complain when Debbie sits her down and gets her an icepack.)_

_(There’s an almost broken nose, a product of a fight in a bar and the end of Lou’s drinking. Out comes the icepack again.)_

_(Every time—“Jesus, Lou. Do you need to go to the hospital?” And—“I’m fine. It’s just a bruise.”)_

 

So when they meet they meet perfectly, Lou aching for it and Debbie aching, too.

 

It feels ridiculous at first, like a cheesy scene out of a bad porno, and so Debbie doesn’t take the crop and slap it against her palm or the bed or says anything sexy, merely holds it loose at her side and asks—

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Just do what feels comfortable.”

 

It’s odd, to be on such new ground. If it can’t be planned half to death, she doesn’t do it. This _can_ be planned, and they have planned it, but.

 

Debbie starts off teasing, runs it over Lou’s shoulder and down her arm and can’t help but smile at the goosebumps that trail after the tip of it. After that, a swat, light and to where Lou’s thigh meets her ass, somewhere soft—or as soft as she can find on her slim wife—and that won’t leave any mark.

 

“A little harder,” Lou asks, and so Debbie tries, takes a couple times, the crop landing flat and soft and with a little _thwap_ that made them both laugh.

 

Twenty minutes later, the crop lands with a whistle and the crack of leather on flesh, with Lou hissing through her teeth. She’s left little marks, tiny red welts she knows Lou knows she’ll kiss away later. But for now Lou sits kneeling still and watching her, a flush to her cheeks and smiling, and the crop comfortable in her hand now and Debbie knows when she slips between Lou's thighs Lou will be wet for her—dripping, practically.

 

“Again?”

 

“Again.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knifeplay

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lou stabs down at the air jokingly with the shiv, asks what she did to Claude and laughs when Debbie tells her.

 

Dinner is eaten and the leftovers left on the table, the two of them rising now—Debbie leans close, free hand tugging at the strap holding Lou’s robe together and then slipping a hand under to find warm skin, Lou’s arm curling around her neck and holding her close. Debbie tilts her face up, nips at her jaw, takes the shiv from Lou’s hand and, oh how she loves this tall, lanky, ridiculous, beautiful woman with a sheep’s face mask on the top of her head for reasons Debbie doesn’t even _want_ to know.

 

On their bed she straddles Lou’s hips, Lou bare under her except for boxers she can't wait to get rid of, and traces the edge of the shiv against Lou’s pale skin, feels her mouth slip up into a smile at the goosebumps it raises on Lou’s arm, the hardening of her nipples.

 

She’d sat in solitary, in that one corner that gave her just enough space to work, one of the few places with enough privacy to rub the old toothbrush against the rough concrete enough to give it a little bit of an broken, frayed edge, to pause and stop and look at it and think and turn it over just a little, work that ragged part into something sleek and needle-sharp.

 

And now Lou takes it from her hands over the course of things, steals it from her when they're kissing and her grip is slack and she's rutting like a teenager against Lou's thigh and couldn't care less about the fucking shiv.  

 

"God, I missed you," Debbie says, close enough to coming to feel it there like a wave about to crash, and it's Lou who pushes her that final step, Lou's arms around her holding her close and whispering against her shoulder _I missed you, too, baby girl_ , and Debbie grasps the bedsheets and comes harder than she has in years.

 

Lou's lucky they're both coming into money sometime soon, though, because once she catches her breath and she tilts her head back up, meeting Lou's eyes, the shiv reappears, not in vision but in feeling, tip of it sliding careful up her thigh until Lou hooks under the side of her panties and pulls up, saws, light and lacy fabric standing little change against the rough, serrated edge.

 

The fabric breaks, tension snapping away, and Lou turns them both over, an arm around her wait, guiding, until Lou's on top of her and there is a pause and the fire is tamped down to coals for a moment. 

 

How ridiculous to have wanted to spend a moment away from her, Debbie thinks. If she were another sort of woman she'd reach up, grasp Lou's face in her hands. Under the cover of smokey make-up there are a few more laugh-lines, and Lou's shoulders a little thinner, sharper. But as it is there's the question of the shiv and Lou's hips between her thighs, pressing because neither of them are particularly fond of dwelling on the past, and all of the missing time can be reckoned with later. 

 

"You're replacing that," Debbie says, takes the shiv from Lou's hand and reaches out and puts it on the nightstand, because damn if that wasn't one of her favorite pairs of panties. 

 

"Sure," Lou says with a smile, a hand on her hip, and Debbie lets Lou slink down and spread her thighs and get to work.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
